This morning I, Matt Uhler, am in a familiar loop. I’d like to put more time and effort into writing. I haven’t had any success (publications or new readers) to justify putting more time and effort into writing. I don’t send much out for publication and I do nothing to promote my writing, which might explain not having any success. Back in September, I started submitting some poems to a few journals. As of this blog post, I have poems out at seven different journals (three of them considered “top-tier” prestigious journals). I’ve also been rejected by four journals, and none of those journals offered criticism or feedback. Yet, when I read other people’s writing (published writing), I sometimes think my stuff is as good as what I’m reading. Then I feel all arrogant and ashamed for even making the comparisons. More accurately, I begin to think I’m deluded – that I possess an over-inflated sense of ego and love for my own voice and style. This confidence – insecurity trap can be a death spiral for writers and artists. Whenever I feel like I’m an imposter, I remind myself of the many public failures of “business” tycoons and gurus (Elon Musk and the most recent FTX crypto bro – whatever his name is).
At about the same time I started submitting my writing for publication, I began cultivating my own little writing community on Twitter – by which I mean I’ve been following a few writers who tend to share poems and comments about poetry that I appreciate. I’ve discovered quite a few new poems this way and I recently agreed to buy two watercolors from an artist I’ve liked. Because my life seems to mirror that of a Charlie Brown cartoon, Twitter began its implosion just as I was finding things to curate. I still haven’t gotten around to using it as a tool for promotion, and may never get the chance. To date, I’ve never made mention of TurtleSloth anywhere… ever. I am a stubborn adherent to the philosophy of “if you build it they will come” – and if they don’t, their loss. Also, I’m kinda afraid of having actual readers. So, while I like the idea of “being a writer,” I do very little to promote or further my status as a writer. I write, and if people read, cool.
The most recent stats for TurtleSloth show I’m about 10 posts shy of 600 published posts – with another 138 hidden/private posts and another 100 drafts. The numbers are getting a little skewed because of the Daily Fifty-Two project, but I’m surprised I’ve stuck with this practice of mine for as long as I have and that I’ve found ways to keep typing away. Thank you, thank you, please, thank you, please… hold your applause.
But seriously, my thought loop this morning (and a bit yesterday) has been, what’s next? What might going a little more public or taking this to the next level look like? I’ve thought about going back to school or attending a retreat to get better at this writing thing and also to get feedback. I’ve thought about reaching out to some of my new connections to solicit feedback. I sometimes tell myself I’m going to follow a more rigorous schedule. Submit poems every Monday, revise every Sunday, drink ginseng tea on odd numbered Tuesdays. I sometimes want to try my hand at something like a personal essay (cause you know… I’ve written a few). I’ve thought about taking time off to focus on writing (here, I’m reminded of a friend who took a year off from his job as an engineer to focus on his music career). Of course, I’m afraid to do any of these things. I’m afraid of failure and I’m a little afraid of further commitment. There’s nothing worse than throwing a party and having no guests – which is the risk of putting myself more out there. At least now when I tell myself nobody reads what I write, I can blame it on having such a laissez-faire approach to self-promotion. Not trying relieves me of any pressure to succeed or care.
With some of the writers I follow promoting their Substack accounts more heavily now that they find Twitter to be a dumpster fire, I moseyed on over to the site to check things out. Basically what I found, was what I’ve been doing: blogging random thoughts but with a subscription service. One writer wrote about the sensation of watching her feet and shoes as she walked through the streets of Paris. Another writer wrote about wholeness, connectedness, and inner turmoil (topics I’ve more than adequately covered). Another writer wrote about how Twitter has become a “festering shit hole” but he’s not leaving and here are three reasons why… All of the writing was solid, but nothing about the style or subject matter struck me as being much different or better than what I’ve been doing. Though – they all have something I don’t – an audience, a following, a “platform.”
I suppose, until I figure out whether or not I want a larger writing life or for writing to play a larger role in my life or something something writing and something life, I’ll continue doing what I’m doing here. Practicing and occasionally screaming into the void – waiting for it to scream back at me.